Page 13 of Campaign Season
“Clearly, not the way I planned.” Jameson grinned. “I like watching Candace with people. If I’m honest, I like meeting folks, too. But the spectacle? The nastiness? No thanks.”
“Yeah. It gets ugly. My parents were skeptical when I decided to run. I think they worry it’ll keep me from finding a husband and giving them grandkids.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Eventually. I won’t settle, though. I was with the same guy from my senior year of high school until two years ago. Everyone assumed we’d get married once we both had careers established. Then I ran for the State House. I put my law career on the back burner for a shitty paying, thankless job. That ended his foregone conclusion.”
“Uh-oh. He didn’t approve?”
“Oh, if he’d seenthisin my future, he might’ve thought differently. But I didn’t see it either—not four years ago.”
“What changed?”
Aubrey reeled in her line and cast again, her brow furrowed. “Candace.”
Jameson tilted her head.
“I never thought I’d see a woman in the White House. That’s probably awful to admit, but it’s true. Men get a pass for things she’s pummeled for daily. It isn’t right, Jameson.”
"JD," Jameson said.
“JD?” Aubrey echoed.
Jameson smiled. “Everyone but Candace and Pearl calls me JD. Maybe it’s because I’m secretly always in trouble with them.”
Aubrey laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Trust me. I’ve put them both through the paces. They hate my ladders and tree climbing.” Jameson shook her head. “It isn’t right—the double standard. Some of it’s gender, but a lot of it is Candace. She’s her harshest critic. Believe me.”
“I do. Watching her made me realize how important it is to have more women in leadership. And how badly we need people willing to do more than campaign constantly.”
“That’s the truth,” Jameson agreed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Can’t promise I’ll have an answer.”
“How do you handle being out here after what happened in New York?”
Jameson paused, fingers tightening slightly on the reel. She spun the line once, giving herself a moment to steady the lump in her throat. Across the bank, a camera shutter clicked like a woodpecker hammering against bark.
“I’m sorry. Too personal,” Aubrey said quickly.
“No.” Jameson’s voice was calm. “It’s an understandable question—from someone stepping onto the national stage. The truth? It’s still hard. Harder than I let on.” She glanced at the current carrying her line downstream. “Candace isn’t prone to fear—at least not to letting it rule her. She always says she’s ‘aware.’ I think that’s the best answer I can give. It was eye-opening. You can’t live life expecting danger at every turn or suspecting everyone of wanting to harm you.”
“Do you worry?”
“Sure. Who wouldn’t? I don’t think I’ve ever felt fear like that. I was stuck on an airplane. I don’t know what was worse, the fear or the helplessness.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine,” Aubrey said.
“It’s made her more determined,” Jameson remarked. “But coming that close to death? It’s also a reminder that we’re all living on borrowed time. Can I ask you something?”
“Seems fair.”
“Do you love it?”
“Huh?”
